I Slept With Doctor Gregory House & All I Got Was
by Ellie Lynne
Summary: Cameron learns about House's latest diagnosis. Does she really have anything to worry about? Starts out as Angsty Chameron, turns quickly into Hameron! Set during and through No More Mr. Nice Guy. Why Hameron? Because DS forgot where the real love is...
1. This Lousy Case Of Syphilis?

Pairing: Starts out Chameron (Chase/Cameron) angst, but turns into Hameron (House/Cameron)

Spoilers: Season 2 Half-Wit and Season 4 No More Mr. Nice Guy

Warning: Not all of the dialog is right. I added what I could remember, but you get the idea. Characters may be OOC, sorry, but Cam seemed a little OOC in the episode, awfuly defensive for someone innocent. ; D

* * *

**I Slept With Dr. Gregory House And All I Got Was...**

**...This Lousy Case of Syphilis?**

_**House has Syphilis.**_

_At least, that's what his new fellows are telling me._

_Kutner said that while he was running some blood work in the lab, he stumbled upon a vial of his blood. After running it, they discovered that he was infected._

_This is terrible. Sure, this is different from him possibly having cancer because Syphilis is curable, but it's still shocking. It would explain the way he acts, I suppose, but I always just assumed it was because of the infarction. I mean, for crying out loud, I would've done the same if someone put me in a drug-induced coma and had half of my thigh muscle removed!_

_I wonder how he's handling this. Normally he sits in his office or at home and dry swallows a few days worth of Vicoden, chasing it with a nice shot of scotch. Well, they did say that they gave him some drugs for it, but I doubt he's downing those with anything different, either. For such a remarkably brilliant doctor, he sure isn't very health conscious._

"Did you sleep with him?"

Hearing this, I looked up from staring at my shoes in thought as I hugged my knees. I was startled to find everyone staring at me on account of the accusation that was thrown my way. To top it off, it was from Chase. _The one person who was supposed to love me and believe me. He knew better, and it amazed me that he was questioning my morals like that._

"What?" I shouted in disbelief. _What's he trying to say? That just because I've lo-cared for the man since the day I met him, that I would sleep with him at the first chance I got? Who does he think he is?_

"You did, didn't you?!" he spat angrily at me.

I tried to ignore him, hoping he'd let it go. I looked to Foreman for help, but he just looked back at me, skeptically, waiting for me to answer. The circle became drenched in an awkward silence. One of House's new fellows, I think it was Taub, but I'm not sure, spoke up in the attempt to change the subject. Chase stared furiously at me, never once letting his eyes leave mine.

"You didn't answer the question," he growled.

_Answer the question? Why should I have to explain myself to him or anyone else?_

"Maybe because it's none of _their _business," I said, referring to the others. "Or yours," I snorted under my breath, thinking he didn't hear me.

I could see his anger rising; his eyes were burning into mine. Suddenly, it was as if everyone else faded away and it was only just the two of us, sitting across from each other while he sat there with his arms folded.

"I think the STD is my business!" he retorted.

I was about to ask him, "What STD?" when I realized that he was saying.

_Crap. I was so angry at Chase bringing this up in front of other people, I forgot the possibility that House could've spread it to others. Knowing his love for Hooker Wednesdays not only made it more possible that he spread it, but it was also my suspicion that he might have contracted it that way, also._

"Really, because I thought we were talking about House, not us!"

Just then, my pager went off, requesting me to return to the ER. I stood up from the chair, glared evilly at Chase for practically accusing me of being a whore in front of my co-workers, and stalked out of the room.

* * *

When I got there, I stopped by the nurse's station to see what was the emergency. She handed me a file and pointed to one of the concealed rooms, blocking my view of the patient. Looking down at the file, I skimmed through it to find a name.

_Laura, Luke N._

_The name sounded awfully familiar. Where had I heard that from?_

Drawing back the curtain, I frowned and sighed heavily.

There sat House, unfortunately fully clothed, on the edge of the bed in front of me, twirling his cane like a batonist at the front of a parade. He stopped when he saw me and smirked.

"I fell down a flight of stairs, Doc," he said, mocking my usual patients. "I think there's something wrong with my leg!"

"I think the problem's in your brain," I remarked. "What do recommend as a remedy?"

He looked like he was purposely thinking hard. "A Morphine drip would be nice, followed by a script of Vicoden, a Cherry lollipop, and a side order of hooker usually does the trick."

I couldn't help but release a half-smile. "Yeah, you'd _love _that wouldn't you?" I pointed to the options he mentioned as if they were written in the air in front of me. "Let's see...you're not dying, so no Morphine. Have Wilson write you a script. I'm all out of cherry because the crippled diagnostician upstairs keeps swiping them, and as for the last one, you might want to lay off of that for awhile."

House lowered his head. "Sounds like those nurses have been working overtime at the rumor mill." He must've noticed my nervousness, because he turned the conversation around on me. "Stop clenching, Cameron. I swear, if I had a nickel for every time you worried about someone other than yourself, I'd be so rich that my mansion would make Hugh Hefner and all of his little bunny girlfriends jealous."

"You're not worried?" I asked, unable to understand how he was taking this so well. _When I had gone through this before, with Calvin coughing his HIV-infected blood on me, I freaked. House was eerily calm about it. He continued twirling his cane like he didn't care. Just like he did when he "had cancer"..._

Then, it hit me. The answer was staring me right in the face all along.

"Let me guess. It just dawned on you that Brad Pitt's not going to dump Angelina?" he asked in amusement.

"What?" I asked, shaking my head, being pulled out of my stupor.

"Epiphanies are usually accompanied by that dumbfounded staring into space."

"It wasn't your blood."

"Well, you didn't come back with another needle, so I think it's safe to say whoever you kissed, his blood won't match mine," he quipped. He cleared his throat and stopped spinning the cane.

"It wasn't your blood," I repeated. It was more than a statement; it was a revolution. And it was evidently true, judging from House's reaction to it.

"Not unless my birth certificate says I'm _Betty Buttkis. _Then again, it might; I've never seen it before."

I felt my eyes go wide, and I'm still not sure why. _This was coming from House, therefore, it should've almost have been expected. He faked cancer, why not fake an sexually transmitted disease?_

"So, you're clean?" I asked, carefully.

"Spotless," he replied, smugly.

I snorted. "I wouldn't go _that _far."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "You're relieved."

_Relieved? I'm jumping for joy on the inside._ "Yeah, I'm thrilled actually. I'm so glad that you don't have Syphilis. Is it really that hard to believe that I would be thankful that you're healthy." I paused. "Well, what's normally healthy for you, anyway."

"Huh," he said, dead panned.

"What?" Why is he surprised?

"Nothing. I'm just shocked. I figured once you found out I was even more damaged, you'd be all over me like a bum on a ham sandwich."

"Why do you always blame my concern for you on my 'love for damaged people'?" I asked, bending my fingers with air quotations.

"Because Dr. Chase is the perfect _American Eagle_ model. I'm a walking advertisement for Rehab. I'm damaged. You're down here with me instead of up there with him."

My jaw dropped as I looked at him, incredulously. "You _paged _me down here!"

"And you're still here. If you wanted him, you would've walked out of here as soon as you saw me, but no. You stayed." He grinned victoriously. He was ruffling my feathers, and he knew it. He reveling in making me angry.

"I didn't stay here because I don't want him," I explained.

He studied me closely. "But you didn't go back because you want him, either," he concluded. "What's happened? You fight about something? The wombat steal your curling iron again?"

I looked to the floor, guilt-ridden._ I don't want to talk to him about this. I already told him how I feel about him and he threw it back into my face. _Reaching into the pocket of my lab coat, I pulled out my prescription pad, scrawled on it and ripped it off.

"Here," I said, handing it to him.

He took the paper and glanced at it. "Still looping your "G"s, huh?" It wasn't an obvious gesture of thanks, but I could see the appreciation in his eyes.

I nodded, silently conveying "You're welcome" to him, hoping that his fix for pain pills was the only thing stopping him from leaving. He pocketed the paper and turned back to me. I could sense he was unsure of what to say, so I spoke up.

"Why?"

He looked at me, pretending to not know what I was referring to. "Why what?"

"House." I said, warning him.

"You tell me yours, I'll tell you mine."

I groaned. "Fine. What do you want to know."

"What were you and Captain Kangaroo fighting about?"

_What am I supposed to say, we we're arguing because he thinks you and I had sex? Hmm. Come to think of it, why not? It wouldn't be any worse than if he found out from his fellows._

"Chase thinks I slept with you."

House's eyes lit up in excitement. To House, learning something new always meant new blackmail and ways to torture people. It was ammunition, and he welcomed it like an eight year old finds out he got a brand new set of Legos on Christmas morning. "So, what did you tell him?"

I shook my head. "I told him that it was none of his business, or anyone else's for that matter."

He frowned. "You didn't confirm it, but you also didn't deny it?"

What did he want me to do? I wondered as I felt my cheeks get warm. "It's not his business."

"It's mine!" he protested. "I think if we're going to let people think we had sex that we should at least make it worth it!"

"Well, great. The next time someone asks me, I'll let them know how you couldn't get it up, when you _finally _did, it lasted no more than five minutes and that I faked it, just to get you to stop."

He frowned, obviously not satisfied by my suggestion. "First off, I don't have a problem getting it up. Secondly, you'd be lucky if you could walk after a few hours with me, and last, but not least, if anyone's faking anything, it's you, pretending that you don't want me."

"I don't want you," I said, trying to make it sound true.

"You're lying," he said, sure of himself.

"So are you. Everyone does," I said with a frown, turning around to leave the room, when I noticed he didn't answer my question.

"Why?" I asked, turning back around to face him.

"Why what?"

"When I said you switched the vials, you didn't deny it. Why tell me now instead of letting me find out through one of your underlings?"

He climbed off of the bed and limped over to me. He dropped the sarcasm and the bitterness from his voice and replaced it with the rare concern-filled tone she'd heard maybe only once before. "Because one STD scare was already one too many," he said, looking into my eyes.

"You...told me to...protect me?" I asked.

"Or to ruin Kutner's fun of telling you later on. Either way, I'm okay with that."

"Which one is it really?" I asked, hopeful that he would be serious again.

He grumbled under his breath. "First one..."

"Thanks," I said, genuinely surprised by his gesture, smiling at him.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, pretending like he didn't care.

"So, now what?" I asked.

"Now we wait until someone figures out that I switched the vials and then laugh at them for caring."

"I should go," I said, starting back towards the door.

"Hey," he said, stopping me. I turned around to see his face lit up.

House had an idea. I can always tell because it's followed by a mischievous grin. "You really want to thank me?"

I nodded, hesitantly, not sure if it was such a good idea that I did. "Yes?"

"Monster Truck Rally's on tonight," he suggested. "My place. If you can last through it, I'll acept your pitiful thanks. Need a ride?"

My eyebrows shot up into my hairline. "Uh, sure," I agreed, not wanting to see Chase.

"Come on," he winked, grinning wildly at me. "Let's give the wombat something to _really _worry about."

* * *

A/N: For now, this is a One-Shot, because A) I'm updating _Everybody Out of the Water_, and B) I'm not sure if it's good enough to continue it. Let me know what you think. If you all like it, I'll pick it back up and add on to it. Thanks! :D


	2. This Skanky Reputation

Pairing: Starts out Chameron (Chase/Cameron) angst, but turns into Hameron (House/Cameron)

Spoilers: Season 2 Half-Wit and Season 4 No More Mr. Nice Guy

A/N: Thanks for all the AWESOME reviews! To reward you, here's chapter two. Review this one too please. Thanks! : D

* * *

**I Slept With Dr. Gregory House And All I Got Was...**

**...This Skanky Reputation**

House was waiting for me.

I made my way downstairs towards my locker, and threw it all in the used linen hamper. I'd been bleed on countless times that morning, and my scrubs were more than happy to back up my story. I slid on my clean clothes, and pulled the ponytail holder from my long, blonde "hooker" hair, letting it cascade down my back. Maybe I'll be less noticeable by Chase is he sees me leave with House. I snorted in spite of myself, looking into the tiny mirror I had hung in my locker door.

"Who cares about Chase?" I practically yelled at myself. "He's being a jerk. No... jerk seems too mild. An arse! Yes, he's being a jealous, assumptive arse." I sighed. "He's just like..."

"_Me?_"

I inhaled sharply and looked over to the door of the locker room. House stood arrogantly before me, holding open the door. "I thought a first-grade reading level was required to be the Head of Diagnostics."

"Nice."

"This is the _women's _locker room."

He shrugged. "_And_?"

I rolled my eyes. "Is there any place you _won't _go?"

He drew his lips tightly together and narrowed his eyes in mock thought. "The theater on Broadway, two days before Halloween."

I looked at him, genuinely confused.

"It's The Rocky Horror Picture Show's Annual Drag Queen Night." He grimaced and his body shook as if something cold ran down his spine. "I don't ask questions, and I pray they don't volunteer the answers. Although, I'm pretty sure I saw Cuddy in a mini and black leather pumps there once. Couldn't tell the difference between them all though, and I didn't want to end up with the wrong one."

She chuckled lightly. "_Pray_, huh?"

He tapped his cane against a locker. "You would too if there were a dozen men dressed like Twisted Sister chasing after you and offering you "more than you can handle. Don't think "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" only applies to the military."

I grabbed my purse. "Okay, so...to your place then?"

"Did you cram Gravedigger into your tiny apartment viewing box?"

I shook my head. "Well...no."

He used the end of his cane to slam my locker shut. "Then I guess you're stuck with putting up with my testostone filled bachelor pad for the next forty-eight hours. Just don't touch anything, I don't want it contracting girl cooties."

I made it to the door when I realized what he'd said, and stopped, turning back around to face him.

"_Forty-eight hours_? House, the rally's only about two hours long, four at the most!" I insisted.

He nodded and opened the main door, shoving me through. "Yeah, but it's Friday night. That's four hours to enjoy the rally, and an additional forty-four hours to make him stir and feel guilty, like the metro sexual idiot he is, about calling you a, and I quote from a later overheard conversation, "a promiscuous piece of tainted meat" end quote."

I growled. "I am _not _promiscious! And I'm certainly not, as you so eloquently put it, "tainted"," I defended myself. "And, who says I can stand you long enough to spend two days with you?"

He looked at me in disbelief. "In my office, you look like you're ready to ravage me like a wild cat, but when I give you permission, you tell me I _annoy _you? Pick one and stick with it!" He sighed. "Women are _so _indecisive..."

I moaned, my hand rubbing over my eyes. _What am I going to do? If I go home, Chase'll corner me._ _Oh man, I really don't want to go home. Plus, House never actually invites anyone to do anything._

He tapped the ground with his cane. "You can't go home or you'll have to explain yourself. At least this way, if you come over to my place, you can put off his girly hissy fit for a few days. If you're going to get grounded, you might as well have some fun before you're chained down again..."

His coaxed was working beautifully. His breathtaking eyes, which I swear were impishly smiling back, were definitely not helping, either.

"Oh, the heck with it," I said, carelessly pushing through the door, waiting for him to follow me and take the lead, "he already thinks the worst of me."

_It can't get any worse than it already has..._

* * *

I thought too soon.

We were almost out the door when Dr. Wilson stopped us, standing in the way of the front door.

"House," he said nodding at him.

"Jimmy! You're looking great today. Nice hair..." He turned to me and grinned. "Wilson, here," he said, pointing to his best friend, "uses Rogaine."

I looked to Wilson for a reaction. He shook his head in confusion. "No, I don't!"

House shook his head. "Patients go into his office with the head of a mop, and come out looking like Mr. Clean."

"That's because my patients have cancer, and hair loss happens to be a symptom of radiation treatments, not the cancer itself."

I looked back to House. "You're right," he said, grabbing me by the arm, "you shaving all of their hair off and pasting it to your head...brilliant idea! Much better than doll hair. It looks great, keep up the good work."

House pulled on my arm and tried to escape with me again, but Wilson was a strong barricade to get past. Wilson turned his "you should be ashamed of yourself" eyes to me. "Dr. Cameron..."

House leaned over towards me and stage whispered. "Don't bother trying to ignore him here; he'll just follow us and bother us when we get home."

Wilson picked up on House's way of phrasing. "Home? You're going home? To whose home?"

He turned his interrogation to me, "His home or your home? Why are you going there together? Better yet, what are you planning on doing once you're there? And where's Chase?"

House held up a hand as if Wilson would suddenly shut up after seeing it raised. "Slow down there, Speedy! Paula's taking a nine month vacation, if you know what I mean, so I've decided to _expand_ my horizons."

Wilson was appalled into shock-he couldn't move. "What?"

House took this time to clamp back onto me and we slid past Wilson and out the door.

We walked down the sidewalk to his parking space which had his bike parked in it.

"That's the _second _time today that I've been referred to as a whore," I complained.

"Third," he corrected me, "don't forget the time I referred to you as Paula's understudy."

I huffed at him. "Ah, yes, how could I forget? I spent years of working here while building up my reputation as a doctor, and all it took was one simple accusation and less than fifteen minutes to demolish it," I said, watching him get on his bike, strapping his cane into it's customized holster.

"It took me years to construct mine, but with one selfless act, and you being there to witness it, could take mere seconds to blow it all up," he said, as I mounted the bike, in the seat behind him. "So, with that being said, keep your petty little eyes to yourself. No praising the cripple for being _humane._"

I loosely held his hips, hoping for a repeat of the beginning of our last ride.

"We've been through this before. This goes here, and this one goes here..." he said, patronizingly, his strong hands snaked behind him until they found mine, and pulled around his waist, connecting at his stomach. "And they connect like this. Now, hold on! I don't want you falling off and become handicapped...wouldn't want to have to fight _another_ woman off for my impeccable parking space."

I highly doubt that was his real intention of warning me of the dangers of falling off, but I'm willing to bet that if there was a war over the parking spot, he'd post a lot more flyers around town just to get it back, and I need all of the sleep I can get.

* * *

We dismounted the Honda and walked up the stairs to House's apartment. Walking through the front door, I noticed it was a little cleaner than the last time I saw it. He closed the door, pulled off his jacket, throwing it onto the couch, and grabbed his cordless from it's cradle. "Italian or Chinese?"

"Uh..." I stammered, "Italian?"

"You're not sure?" he said, giving me a confused look. "There's no right answer to this, Cameron, just pick one."

"Italian," I said, hoping the questioning tone in the answer I gave him this time was better. He pressed a button on the phone and waited. "One down, one to go. Pizza. What do you want on it?"

"Cheese," I replied, not really caring what he ate on it. Anything I didn't like, I'd just pick off later.

"Cheese? That's _it?_" he asked, waiting for me to add more to my answer.

"Yeah," I replied, simply.

He snorted. Waiting for them to pick up, I watched him shake his head and heard him mumble the word, "Cheese."

I smiled at his confused manner and remembered the fact that he had takeout set on his speed dial. _Men_, I thought, huffing.

While he ordered dinner, I walked slowly around the room, taking more notice to it's detail. Guitars hung from the wall, some autographed, some plain. His beautiful baby grand piano sat in the corner, the reflection of his lamp shining against it's pitch-black glaze. I was so curious by my surroundings, I didn't hear him hang up the phone and sneak up behind me.

"So!" he said, appearing over my shoulder, scaring me half to death, "pizza's on it's way. You can snoop around later; the rally's about to start."

We walked, well...I walked, he limped, over to his couch and sat down, while House turned on his brand new big-screen Plasma T.V. First the announcers were introduced, and then the drivers and their trucks. I looked over to see House's face light up when Gravedigger was shown. His features relaxed into a softer, more innocent gaze and he smiled. This was probably the closest I'd ever see him to being genuinely happy. I decided to milk this opportunity for all it's worth.

As thrilling as these trucks were to see on television, absolutely _nothing _beats seeing them in person. The arena is enormous, surrounded by an endless number of people, all gathered around under a building clouded in the smell of diesel fuel, and deafened by the sound of roaring engines and crunched metal and broken glass.

House watched as the trucks destroyed everything in their paths, and I continued to watch House until the doorbell rang, breaking my attention away from him.

"Aren't you going to get that?," I asked, waiting for him to get up to get the door. He didn't move.

"Nope," he replied, simply, "it's that Jehovah's witness again. Tell him to get lost." He started to go back to watching the trucks, but thought of something. "Wait! Give him Wilson's address, instead."

I rolled my eyes. "That'll be our pizza, House."

"How very astute of you, Cameron," he replied, making no effort to answer it.

I stood up and walked towards the door. "I'll get it," I said unenthusiastically, looking back to him. He waved at me to go get it, his attention lost in the T.V. I turned back towards the door, smiling. Something about the way he watched it, so intently, made it seem like he was a little kid, seeing something for the first time. It was, sort of...I don't know..._cute_!

"The poor guy probably has his arms full," l said, opening the door. I reached to grab the food, when something slammed into me, hitting me square in the face, knocking me off balance and sent me crashing to the hardwood floor below.

All I can think of is the pain. I was crying. I'm not sure of what just happened.

You'd have to ask House...

* * *

I didn't see it happen until it was too late.

Cameron had been babbling on about something or another. I remember commenting on how sharp her intellect was, and she continued to gripe; I think it had something to do with me being too lazy to answer the door. Suddenly, it became deadly silent. My heart plummeted into my stomach as it echoed throughout the flat. Before that moment, never in my, pathetic excuse for a life, have I ever wished that I was deaf; completely hearing impaired. A light gasp of air was heard, and then ended with a terrifying sound; distinct and gut wrenching.

The sound of bone breaking.

Chills ran up and down my spine at the cracking. I then realized that I was still sitting there, on the couch, like an idiot, doing nothing. Nothing to stop him, nothing to help her, nothing but sitting there, in shock of what was happening.

When my mind pieced the puzzle together: Cameron, fall, broken bone, blood, open door to the hallway, I shot up faster than any crippled old man should be physically allowed to. My adrenaline was pumping so hard and so fast, I forgot about my leg, and ran to the door.

Robert Chase stood in my doorway, clearly horrified by what he'd done, his fist still clenched by his side. I tossed my cane up into the air and grabbed it three quarters of the way to the bottom, and gripped it like a ball bat, swinging it into the blonde-haired doctor like I was at the batting cages. Chase doubled over and fell further into the living room, writhing in pain and moaning.

Agonizing cries sounded from the floor next to me, pulling me from my angry daze and reminded me that Cameron was in need of immediate medical attention. Chase probably did too after being caned half-to-death, but I'm not worried. He'll either end up with a comfortable metal cot, or a soft pillow-lined coffin. After what he did to Cameron, I'm not so sure I care.

"Cameron?" I asked, gently lifting her head. I could see her face was badly bruising among the swelled up area around her nose. After gently touching her nose, she let out a painful yelp and cried harder. "Yeah, you're nose is definitely broken. Lay still with your head tilted back," I instructed her, pushing a pillow half-way under her head and bunching it under her neck to support it.

I grabbed the cordless and dialed 911.

"_9-1-1, what's your emergency?_"

"This is Dr. Gregory House, I need an ambulance at 221 Baker Street."

"Dr. House, we'll send out an ambulance right away. Can you tell me what happened?"

I glanced down at Cameron and looked into her eyes. There, I saw it all- a giant cocktail of emotions. I gulped at the most dominant one. Fear.

"Dr. House? Dr. House, are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," I said, finding my voice again.

"What happened, sir?"she asked me. I told her just as I came to terms of what happened, not approving the words that escaped my throat.

"...bastard tried to kill my girlfriend..."

* * *

Review, please! Thanks! : D


	3. This Broken ExWombat

**_I Slept With Dr. Gregory House And All I Got Was..._**

**_...A Broken Ex-Wombat_**

I'm surrounded by darkness.

The faint sound of a muffled page from a P.A. system can be heard from a distance and the steady, familiar tone of medical monitors sounded in my ear. I'm not unconscious, but I've never wished that I were more than I do right now. Or dead. My body won't move. Am I paralyzed?

"I know you can hear me, you spoiled little British brat!"

I struggled to open my eyes, but they seem to be inflamed as if they swelled shut. I may not be able to see who it is that's speaking, but there's only one person I know who thinks I'm from Britain.

House.

I ran my sore tongue over my inflamed dry, cracked lips to moisten them, feeling the bitter tang of metal hitting my tastebuds.

Blood.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you that it's _wrong _to hit girls?"

There's a rapid beeping sound and then the pain came rushing back. He was decreasing my morphine. The only good thing that came of it was that my whole body throbbed in pain, assuring me that it was still there. Whether I could see it or not, I could sure as heck feel it.

"_I _listened to my mother,but seeing as you threw the first punch, I made an exception for you."

My only response for him that I could muster up was fogged by my moans as I tossed and turned, writhing in agony. The blunt forces of pain increased, transforming into a sharp, stabbing pain that coursed through my veins like snake venom. I screamed, my body contorting into positions that would normally be considered unnatural for the human skeleton to be able to bend into.

Loud, but muffled, shouts came from the opposite side of the glass door to the room I was in, accompanied by persistent banging of people trying to get in. Unlike them, I'd give anything to get out. His beyond furious gaze bore into me like a thousand daggers. His eyes scared me.

Those steel-blue eyes cut through me like a double-edged sword.

"House!" they shouted. "House, stop!"

The last thing I could remember thinking was...this is it.

House's going to kill me.

"Please!" I begged, not sure if I wanted to die or live after the pain he was putting me through.

"Tell me!"

"What?" I choked out. "Tell you what?"

"Why'd you do it?"

"I thought...I thought she was you."

"So, you decked her because you thought I would answer the door?"

I nodded. "She lied to me!"

"Wrong!" he said, smacking his cane against my leg.

I screamed. Being hit with a cane was one thing, but being beaten with one over and over again, was like grinding salt into an open wound.

"Cameron doesn't lie," House stated firmly.

"Everybody Lies. Cameron's no exception."

House glared angrily at me. "So, Cameron "lied" to you...," he said, bending his fingers in air quotes, "so you break her nose? Very mature of you, Captain Kangaroo!"

I squeeze my eyes, remembering the feeling of my fist's impact to her face. "I told you, I thought she was you."

"Well now! _That _makes a lot more sense. Thank you," he said, sarcastically, "I've been sitting here for hours, trying to find _one _decent reason why _anyone _would want to disfigure my littlist duckling's beautiful facial features. Now, thanks to you, she cries when she looks in the mirror at herself! Do you know how damaging that is, to someone as sensitive as she is?"

I winced at the pain that consumed my body and threatened to push me to unconsciousness.

"It's hard enough to tell your girlfriend her clothes don't make her look fat... Imagine what I'm going to have to go through, convincing her that the splint holding her nose together doesn't make her look like the Elephant Man."

"Wait...what?" I shouted, the adrenaline rushing through my system temporarily taking the edge off of the pain of my welted limbs.

"Why are you surprised? When you punch people in the face, their noses tend to get in the way and break..." he snapped at him, annoyed by his ignorance.

I shook my head. "_You're dating Cameron?_"

He narrowed his eyes. "If you hadn't worked for me for three years, I would be worried that I might've hit you too hard in the head. Luckily, I know dumb realizations are normal for you, especially ones that hit you ten minutes after the fact."

I don't remember thinking out loud, but I must've let the part about Cameron being a "lying whore" slip out since House's cane whacked my side. I cried out again while the room was invaded by Dr. Cuddy, the janitor, and half of the hospital's nursing staff. A nurse ran around to my morphine pump and increased it until I fell unconsciously back into a pain-free sleep.

The last thing I heard was House shouting before he was drowned out by the sound of my heart monitor. "Come near her again, and I'll show you what it's like to be crippled!"

* * *

I threatened Chase to never come near Cameron again and stormed out of the ICU, ignoring Cuddy who was running down the hall, shouting out after me.

"House? House!"

I didn't bother stopping. She'd just yell at me, when she should be yelling at _him_.

I continued to limp down the hallway and got on the elevator, in pursuit of Cameron's room.

Stepping off the elevator, I rounded the corner and literally ran right into Wilson. _Dang it. If I stop, he'll want to talk. If I keep walking, he'll want to talk. Either way, he'll try to get me to talk so he can psychoanalyze me. Maybe if I keep going and pretend I didn't see him..._

"House! We need to talk..."

_Darn you Wilson._

"Not now," I growled, growing closer to Cameron's room.

"Lunch?" he yelled, trying to persuade me with a pickle-free Reuben and an hour of Amber-free Wilson time.

"Fine," I replied debating whether or not I had the actual intention of meeting him for one of his "food-related therapy sessions".

I stepped slowly into Cameron's room to see her asleep, probably from the pain medication they have her on. Morphine as well, most likely. Morphine on tap; like putting NOS energy drink in a fountain drink dispenser. If it wasn't for the broken nose, I'd almost consider her a lucky girl.

"Good going, Allie. All you had to do was ignore the door. It was only supposed to be the delivery guy..."

I flinched in frustration, remembering the food that was ordered before hand. "Dang it...the pizza. I forgot all about it. They better not charge my card for that, or I'll take my business down the street to Pizza Hut," I grumbled, not realizing I was talking to, either myself or someone who couldn't hear me, which in turn makes me talking to myself.

"Next time, we stay in and you can _cook_," came Cameron's hoarse and nasally sounding voice, "unless that's the reason we ordered in the first place. If that's the case, I'll pick something up on the way there."

Inside, I was beaming. She was conscious, she kept a stiff upper lip, and her sense of humor was intact. I snorted at her burn about my cooking. "I can cook, I just don't like to. I just get Wilson to whip something up; he's a master chef. He TiVo's Rachel Ray and Emeril..."

Cameron gave me a tired smile, but must've remembered how ridiculous she must look with a bandage in the middle of her face because she groaned, almost in tears.

"I bet I look like I went a round with Mike Tyson."

I, playfully, took a real good look at the sides of her head, over exaggerating my examination. "Nope, you've still got both of your ears. You might want to get your nose checked out, though."

She gave me her famous Cameron eye roll, and somehow, it seemed a little uplifting, like a slight glimpse of hope. Aside from the bandage, the bruises, and the broken bones, she was still Allison Cameron. She's the strong, intelligent and the most beautiful woman I've ever set my tired, old, perverted eyes on. I still marveled at the thought of her wanted to be with someone so rotten as me; she deserves so much better.

She started to shift uncomfortably under my gaze. "I look hideous, don't I?"

Most men would be afraid to say anything, seeing a question like that as a deadly trap for the asker to take advantage of his answer and swallow him whole with it, but this was different. If anyone else were lying in a bed in front of me, asking me if the giant stack of gauze on the middle of their face made them look bad, I would've taken their picture, copied it, and posted it around the hospital with the words "Barnum and Bailey" and "Ugliest Person Alive" scrawled on it. But, with Allie, I couldn't lie to her. If I did, she'd see right through me.

So I didn't.

"No. You look absolutely beautiful."

* * *

I searched his face for the sarcasm I swore would be hidden in it, but I was startled when I found none. He meant what he said.

Gregory House called me beautiful and he was being _sincere_! Isn't this a sign of the apocalypse?

If not, it was still definitely a rarity. The last thing he was sincere about, that I can remember, was the concern he showed for me when I got knocked out.

I thanked him for the compliment, blushing lightly.

"So, I guess I owe you dinner," I said, trying to lighten the mood.

"No, and we'd be eating the best pizza in town if it wasn't for Chase's stupid stunt..."

I noticed something else mixed in with his anger at Chase. Disappointment, maybe?

_Chase_, I thought, narrowing my eyes at the mention of his name. "What an idiot! What was he thinking? What in his right mind, told him it would be a good idea to hit me?"

House shifted uncomfortably. "Not many people would expect _you _to be the one to answer the door to _my _apartment."

I snorted. "Good point. So...he meant to hit _you _instead?"

He nodded. "Guys seem to get angry when their bosses "taint" their girlfriends."

I shook my head in disbelief. "I am _not _his girlfriend! Chase and I were in a trial-based relationship. It's like getting a pass to work out at the gym for free for a day. I decided it wasn't what I expected or wanted, so I broke it off. He's been hassling me about it for the past week and a half."

"I figured as much," he replied.

"What makes you say that?" I asked, curiosity getting the best of me.

He tapped his cane to the floor. "Simple. You let people assume we had did the horizontal tango. Usually I have to pay people to even admit to it. He's mad at me because he thinks I'm getting all the booty he's not, hence the him-wanting-to-knock-me-out part."

"Serves everyone right for assuming I'm desperate enough to sleep with you," I quipped.

He snorted. "You should feel privileged that I even let you be associated with such an idea! Besides, we both know you're curious to what's under this killer denim. Well, which one is it, Cameron, boxers or briefs?"

I smiled impishly back at him. "I've seen you in nothing but a towel! Your underwear preference is no longer significant to me."

"More interested in what lies beneath, huh?" he jested, his ego growing bigger by the second.

"More interested in getting out of here. I spend enough time here as it is, I don't want to be here any longer than I have to."

He rose his eyebrows. "Are you kidding me? This place is great! I'd live here if I didn't...you know...have a life," he smirked.

"It must be the free cable and the room service that attracts homeless people to it," I chuckled. "It sure isn't for the food..."

"Eating the food here could almost be considered attempted suicide. Speaking of which, I'm starving. What do you say, we blow this joint and grab something edible without killer pickles on it."

"House, would you mind if we just...went home and ate? I don't really feel up to going out anywhere," I said, hinting to how embarrassing it was to be in public with a broken nose.

"Good point. I can't be seen with you, people will think I beat on you," he said, trying to joke about it. I slugged him in the shoulder.

He grabbed his arm and cried out. "You pack a mean punch for a girl."

I smiled, taking it as a compliment. It was as close as House got to a compliment.

"Come on," he said, holding out his hand to help me off of the bed. "Let's go home."

_Home_. They way he said it echoed, over and over, sweetly in my head.

"Your home or mine?" I asked.

"Throw me your keys," he said, holding his hand out to snatch them from the air as I tossed them.

"Good idea, you drive," I told him, not really feeling up to driving. He fidgeted with my key ring, probably to find the one that went to the car. "So, your place or mine?"

A small click was heard and he shuffled toward me, his arm stretched out. I looked at him, curiously. After a moment, all of the keys fell from his fingers except for the one key he held onto, and he offered them back to me. "Neither."

Confused, I took them back from him and looked down into my hand. It was a new key I'd never seen before. I looked back up to him, seeing him swallow hard, while nervously watching me, waiting for my reaction.

"Ours."

* * *

Good? Bad? Let me know, please! Review!


	4. This Place To Call Our Own?

**I Slept With Dr. Gregory House And All I Got Was...**

**...A Place To Call Our Own?

* * *

**

_'Ours?'_

_He wants me to move in with him? I can't just jump whenever he wants me to! Sure I like him...maybe even love him, but this is definitely putting the horse before the carriage. I frowned. Where had I heard that from? I think my mother said that once..._

_Anyway, I can't move in with House! It'll turn into him and Stacy all over again. I want to, but it's just not right...no, I can't do it._

_But what if this is my only chance?_

"No?" I said, not realizing I had said it out loud and more like a question than an answer.

"No?" he asked, taken aback with a raised eyebrow. "No what?"

_Great, now I'm nervous because I was going to word that differently. Oh well, too late now._ I shook my head. "I'm sorry, House, but I can't live with you."

"Huh?" he asked, innocently cocking his head to the side like a confused puppy.

"It's just that...it seems like we're moving way too fast and I really want this to work, whatever it is that's going on between us, and-" I babbled.

"Cameron," he said, stopping me mid-rant, placing his hands on my shoulders. "I'm not asking you to move in with me."

My brain was working time and a half to comprehend the words he just spoke. "What? But...the keys…" I stammered.

He grinned maliciously. "Spare set. In case you ever find yourself too horny to contain yourself and need some House lovin'. That way, the doctor can cure you of said ailments when he gets home."

_Home. He said home again._ It was a very domesticated thing to say, but it felt oddly liberating to hear it. I smiled.

"Or if you just get bored or something, you can come on over," he mumbled softly, close to a whisper. I knew it was his smooth way of asking for company.

"Thanks," I smiled, blushing. "Just..." I paused, waiting until I had his full attention, "let me know ahead of time when you've got company over."

"Wilson hardly ever comes over anymore now that he's _getting some_ from Cutthroat," he sulked as he thought the words through before saying them.

Sympathizing with him came easier since I felt like much of a loner myself and I gave him the most empathetic smile I could muster, trying not to blush. "Actually…I wasn't really referring to Wilson. But, I won't intrude if you have plans with him."

Before he could respond, Nurse Gracie walked in holding a folder.

"Dr. Cameron, here are your discharge papers," she said, timidly. I could tell House was making her uncomfortable by the unusual shyness she presented when she handed me the paperwork. She avoided eye contact with him at all costs and tried to maintain a safe distance from him. _Smart woman._

"Thank you," I said, scanning over them habitually for mistakes. She stood nervously, waiting for me to sign off on them.

House knew what I meant when I had mentioned "company". The kind of company that looks great, feels good, and rips you off by the end of the night. To my surprise, he responded quite differently than I expected. Almost thoughtfully, you could say.

"I wouldn't worry too much about that."

Those words meant one of two things; either, "It's none of your business, so don't worry about it" or "I don't plan on hiring anyone anytime soon, so don't worry about it." I simply nodded, not wanting to look too happy on account of an unknown meaning to such a statement.

"So...food?" I asked, hopping down off of the hospital gurney and heading for the door. He nodded and followed closely behind me.

Taking notice to my walking speed, which, I suppose, was a little faster than normal, he commented on my eagerness for food. "Hungry?"

"I'm starving! I swear I could eat a whole elephant!"

"Well, there goes my next date idea. No circus or wild animals for you, young lady! Unless they're in cookie form; then you better share."

"Date idea?" I asked.

He glared at me. "Non-date."

"Right," I teased him. "Ok, no elephant. How about Chinese?"

"From elephants to cats and dogs," he half-smiled. "I'm surprised you're not a vegan."

"I like meat," I stated proudly with a tiny spark of mischief in my glance toward him. _I wonder if he'll pick up on it…_

I could tell he was trying to hold back a small smile.

"Yummy household pets it is!" He bounced the end of his cane off of the floor and we walked through the hospital lounge and out the door; ignoring all the inquiring stares being thrown our way.

* * *

"WHAT in the name of clinic duty is that?" I shrieked, looking down at the contents of Cameron's Chinese food container.

"They're fried dumplings," she said, stabbing one of them with her fork and holding it up for me to continue critiquing.

"That is _truly_ revolting! How can you eat something that looks like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like it came from a biohazard waste facility!"

"House," she scolded me, "it's practically a meatball fried inside of dough."

"It still looks like something a cat hacked up," I insisted.

She grimaced at the thought and looked down at her food, not sure if she could eat it anymore. "Thanks."

"No problem," I smirked in triumph, on the brink of making her loose her appetite. It must've disgusted her pretty badly because she hesitantly sat the carton down on the coffee table and stood from the couch.

"I appreciate you letting me stay here, House," she thanked me, sincerity oozing from her words. The politeness made my stomach churn and it doubled as she tacked my last name on the end of it.

"Greg," I corrected her, my mouth half full of white rice drenched in soy sauce.

"Right," she nodded, smiling shyly at me. She walked over to the door and grabbed up her bags that she left there when we walked in. Noticing this, I narrowed my eyes and threw my carton down on the table and struggled to get up in a shocking, unnatural wave of panic. Afraid I did something wrong, I stumbled to my feet and hobbled a few steps towards her when she paused to look at me questionably.

"I invite you to stay and you're ready to bolt?"

She smiled and hoisted her overnight bag over her shoulder. "Actually, I'm getting kind of tired so I thought I'd get ready to turn in for the night. Bathroom?"

I nodded in the direction of the hallway. "Straight down the hall."

"Thanks," she said, walking off; the sound of her bare feet padded against my hardwood floor.

I let out a large sigh of relief and plopped back down on the couch. Picking up my food carton, I looked down into it and stared at it, contemplating what had just taken place. I thought she was leaving. And in all honesty, the idea scared the hell out of me. I then realized that if I had to let her go, it wasn't going to be easy. I got ready to stick my fork back into a pile of rice when Cameron's voice cut through the silence.

"Would it be alright if I took a shower?"

I jumped; startled by her returned presence and prayed she hadn't noticed from across the room. With one glance to the hallway, I discovered what she was wearing and dropped my fork into the bucket and set it down on the table absentmindedly, nearly missing it. All of my previous theories and speculations of what Cameron would wear to bed were all shot to hell. The fabric that adorned her slim figure was about as modest as your run of the mill hospital gown. Fortunately for me, it was only missing the giant gaping hole at the back.

She continued. "I usually take one in the morning, but if that would bother you, I could take one tonight, instead."

Instantly, my mind had shut off to what she was saying and was dwelling on the image she presented.

_Cameron..._

_ In my shower..._

_ Glimpses of tan, baby-like, smooth skin with soap running down it..._

_ Steam's emanating from above the shower curtain as she lets the hot water soothe her aching, tired muscles..._

_ Water cascades down every glorious curve of her-_

"Greg?"

The distant sound of my name on her voice brings me back out of my lustful, impure thoughts and I try shaking them from my memory.

"You lookin' for a raise? Because you're bound to get one, one way or another," I smirked.

She blushed. "It's all I had to wear."

"I'll consider myself lucky then."

She grinned. "Consider yourself cursed; this is more than I _usually_ wear."

_Bold._ I liked it. Made me proud, even.

For some strange reason, my collection of sarcastic remarks was tainted by the urges and desires that were creeping out of my subconscious to the front of my mind. All I knew was that I wanted her. I wanted Allison Cameron.

_NO!_ I reprimanded myself. _She's too young, too naïve. Too fragile. Too pure. I'll only ruin her and everything good about her._

I shook my head. "What were talking about?"

She giggled and my stomach did a couple of somersaults. "Shower privileges. Yes or no?"

"Sure. Don't want you stinking up the place."

She shook her head. "Now or in the morning?"

I parroted her. "Don't care. Just don't ruin my beauty sleep."

"Ok, I think I'll wait until morning, than," she said, turning to head back down the hall. "Are you, uh, coming?"

I arched an amused brow at her way of wording and she blushed, stammering. "To bed?"

With a tilt of my head, I remained silent and watched humorously as she kept digging her own grave. Her cheeks reddened with every addition she tried to add to make it sound less sexual.

"I meant, the-the bedroom," she pointed to the room, "are you planning on going to bed anytime soon? Because, I-I, well, what I mean is…"

"Monster Jam's on in ten. I'm not gonna pass out until Gravedigger _buries_ the competition."

She smiles at what had to be one of my lamest of all puns and slowly shuffles across the room to stand in front of me. I can tell she's nervous; her muscles are clenched tightly and she's wringing her hands. _Crap. This is going to be something that relates to feelings and I just haven't had enough to drink to even consider the word, let alone hear her life story._ Instead, surprisingly enough, Cameron doubled over at the waist, gently cupped both hands on the sides of my face and smiled wider. Then her right stroked the stubble of my couple-day old beard and she tipped her head to the side and placed a delicate kiss on my left cheek.

Normally, this would be the perfect time for me to mock her or fire at her with something sarcastic, but my brain doesn't seem to be functioning properly, giving her time to say, "Thanks. Goodnight, Greg" and skip back down the hall. Well, not literally skip, of course. Don't be an idiot...

"Hm." It's all I can say that really sums up what just happened. I'm not sure what to think or how to respond. _Do I really need to? I mean, it is just Cameron, after all._ Blowing a big sigh to my cheeks to puff them up and let it out; slowly letting them deflate, I decided I needed something to drink. _Something hard after that, I should think._

Standing, I hobbled canelessly over to my cabinet and grabbed my bottle of liquid courage before making my way back to the couch. _Single-malt, perfectly aged, liver-mauling Scotch. They say that a dog is man's best friend. Obviously they never had a drink before in their lives. Besides, if I wanted someone to fetch me my slippers or bring me the newspaper, I'd call one of my lackeys. If I wanted to be barked at for awhile, I'd hang out with Wilson. For someone obedient and loyal, I'd get Cameron._

_Ah, yes…Cameron. The reason for this mind-numbing drinking session._

I popped the lid, poured myself a hearty glass and returned it to the table. Grabbing my glass, I made my way to the piano and set it down on a coaster. Normally, I'd never use a coaster, but I'd never forgive myself should my baby ever become "ringed" or damaged in any way.

_Huh… Damaged. The piano's about the only thing in my life that isn't._

Removing the cover, I positioned myself in the center of the keys and let my fingers take on a mind of their own; moving with minds of their own, dancing along the ivory keys. The tune was familiar and it was after noticing this that I realized it was of my own composition; the very song I had written in high school and wasn't able to finish alone. Later on, a brain-damaged patient of mine (_Paul? Peter? Phillip something or another? I can't remember…_), came up with an ending to it that I had been searching for for years.

In the background of my thoughts, I had subconsciously changed songs and was now playing the sweet melody of Oscar Peterson's "Hymn to Freedom". I'm not quite sure, but the notes struck chords of security in me. A few songs later, I started to grow tired and my leg started to bite at me. I popped a couple Vicodin and downed the rest of my amber warmth, grabbed my cane and headed for the bathroom. I brushed my teeth and was heading into the bedroom when I was confronted with an odd sight through the doorway.

Cameron was lying on the bed, peacefully asleep. This would've been considered normal if she'd been lying in correctly, but her head was at the end of the bed and her feet by my pillow. It was odd puzzle; a downright anomaly.

_Doctors love anomalies, but they just downright bug me._

I pulled my cane up and held it like a sword and poked her still form with it in the shoulder. When she didn't move, I did it again, only this time a little harder. She heaved a large sigh and stirred; her eyes opened, taking in her surroundings. Only half-awake, her eyes were still slightly hooded. "I think there's been a mix-up with which part of your anatomy goes at which end of the mattress."

She sat up, looking around her and confirmed that her head and pillow were at the wrong end.

"Sorry," she replied, yawning and lying back down correctly. "I just loved hearing you play."

Stunned, yet relieved she was asleep once again, I nodded with a smile on my face that I knew she couldn't see. I climbed into bed and turned off the light, wondering what adventure tomorrow would bring.

* * *

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